Untitled
by Lavender Mansworth
Summary: Beautiful was not something I had ever even considered just a fairytale to be told as a bedtime story to comfort children. Though I had never experienced beautiful before, I knew that you were it. [Redone]
1. Ch 1

I lie here, your long dark hair like ocean waves, slipping through my fingers. Your petite, but powerful body curled against me, fitting like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle, perfectly congruous with my own form. Of course, that's how we always were, perfectly compatible, but worlds apart. And we never knew it, until now. Until now, we'd never made the journey to cross the unimaginable abyss between us. So long had we avoided the inevitable. So long…

I remember seeing you for the first time. I was only three, but I remember it because it was the first time I had ever seen beautiful. Beautiful was not something I had ever even considered; just a fairytale to be told as a bedtime story to comfort children. Though I had never experienced beautiful before, I knew that you were it. You were the first of Auntie's children, and she was so very proud. Not of you, but of herself, for bearing you, as though she had created the perfection you embodied, as though she had assembled every immaculate bone in your body, infused each silk-soft raven hair into your pale, perfectly shaped skull. You lie in your silk covered bassinet atop satin sheets and goose down pillows, in your little velvet nightgown, but I couldn't help thinking that even if you lay on a pile of dirt, wearing a sack, you still would have looked like a queen, ready to rule her subjects, though she had not yet opened her eyes to see them.

But then you did. Your eyelids raised slowly, as though in a ceremony that I new that I would never forget. I stood frozen in time, the only two people on the earth, you and I. Those eyes burned something inside of me, like an irreversible curse, to have to remember those eyes, see them every waking moment, drifting past my thoughts, and then in my dreams, speaking to me with their sparkle as they did then. Not words, just…beautiful. Eventually, I was dragged away, my mother scolding me for staring so impolitely, even though I tried to tell her that I hadn't been staring because I didn't like you, but because you mesmerized me, captivating me in…you.

Of course, at the time I couldn't find the words to say all that, and all I could tell her was that I didn't want to leave. She mumbled about my father coming home soon, and he wouldn't want us out, and that we'd better hurry home or he'd be angry. My heart sank at this. I knew what it meant when my father came home.


	2. Chapter 2

Father didn't come home often, just regularly enough to give us time to recover from his last visit before coming back to replay the nightmare. He would storm in the door, his eyes malignant and penetrating, and he would do one of his famous "inspections". He would search the house, top to bottom (or whatever he felt like before he got bored) for any imperfection in the way the house was maintained or run.

A speck of dust, a chair out of place, and my mother was beaten. Any sheet wrinkled in the nursery, or toy on the floor, and my brother and I were beaten. Any tainted flavor in the food, or less than prompt service, and the offending house-elf was tortured or dismissed, depending on what sort of mood he was in. And this was the first hour.

My brother, Regalus, took to these visits much worse than I, and although he was older, I was often the one comforting him at night as we huddled in the hallway, for the nursery and all other rooms were locked until he left. One particular stay stands out in my mind as the one time that anyone ever stood up to my father, and the consequences even more so.

It started out like any other time, with my father banging through the doorway, demanding a brandy. This was the only thing he would ever drink during the time he was at home; that one single welcoming brandy, so he wasn't drunk on alcohol while he stayed. He was more intoxicated by the twisted depths of his saccharine addiction. His addiction to his plan for perverse exactitude.

My mother strode forward, the only one ever allowed to approach him, and kissed his cheek. He ignored her completely and brushed his face as though it had only been a breeze wafting by, but there was hell to pay if she did not complete this ritualistic greeting.

"Well?!" he would roar, "Do you not love your own husband enough to greet him? You filthy whore, you don't deserve the likes of me, you DISGUSTING, WORTHLESS SLUT! You contaminate my very presence, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

But that did not happen on this occasion. On this occasion, my mother kissed my insouciant father without incident, and Regalus and I watched on solemnly as we pressed our backs against the wall, determined to reduce the space between us and this vile man, if only by a millimeter. He would then sit down to guzzle the brandy in a minimal amount of gulps, before slamming the bottle down and standing up to begin his inspection.

We were to follow silently, a good distance behind him, but always close enough so that he could "discipline" us if need be without having to reach too far. This particular time, we reached all the way to the nursery before he found anything worth mentioning. Regalus and I still slept in the same room, a child's room, because mother didn't want to have to bother with sending Netta, the house-elf who nannied us, upstairs each night to tuck us in, when she could just as easily leave her in complete charge of us 24/7, and out of her hair. Sometimes I wondered if she ever remembered that she had two sons until we tugged at her dress, asking for something that Netta had failed to grant us.

However, when father was home, she always tried to stay by our sides, a wooden dagger against the invincible beast. Though she looked torn and writhed with sobs each time our father hit us, she knew that it would do no good to intervene, and would only leave us with no one to feed us, for all the house-elves were locked up, only used for father's benefit when he was there. Back in the nursery, all appeared calm, and I almost hoped that there would be no beatings this time, but knew deep down that there was no hope for peace when the beast ruled the manor.

He paid careful attention to the nursery, for there always seemed to be something wrong with it; children's unavoidable mistakes. This time, the conviction was unexpectedly greater. He must haven noticed a bulge under my pillow, for I could see his eyes light up at the sight of imperfection even before I could comprehend the issue. His eyes moved slowly to me, then to Reglaus, before darting back to the pillow.

He strode across the room, and the next instant he was flinging it off the bed, and triumphantly holding up a thick, leather-bound book, inscribed with gold calligraphic writing on the front: _The Rising of the Darkness._ It felt as though my entire body had gone numb. I stood, staring into the leering eyes that spewed fire and hate towards me, disintegrating my heart into nothing. I was empty, nothing stirring inside me, and I swear that for those moments as he looked into my eyes, victory and distorted jubilation swimming in his, my heart stopped beating.

"So," he hissed in a deadly whisper, "though we'd steal a book from my study, did we? Let me tell you something, little boy; we don't steal in this house." As a matter of fact, I hadn't taken the book from his study, but found it in the library on a bottom shelf that I could easily reach. Indeed I'd actually forgotten about it until now. More importantly, I hadn't even been reading it, for at five years old, with no schooling at all, I could barely recite my alphabet. I'd loved it for the pictures, gray line drawings, though they were, because I could make up stories about them, the dragons and great wizards that I saw illustrated. My own escape from dull reality.

"YOU'RE A THIEF AND A GOOD FOR NOTHING IMBECILE!" he suddenly roared, flecks of spit spraying onto my face. I averted my eyes, unable to withstand the permeating hatred that they emulated. "YOU ASININE MISCREANT, LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!" he screamed.

Then he reached out and slapped me hard in the face. I barely flinched. I knew that it would only make him angrier, but already my dignity was too great to be beaten so easily. His next move was always a punch, so I readied myself, slackening my jaw to minimize injury, and sure enough, the blow came, forceful enough this time to knock me to the floor. I tried to ignore the dull ache in my jaw, preparing myself for more serious harm, but to my surprise, none came. I dared to look up, hoping that I wouldn't see his face above mine. He had now turned to Regalus.

How could this happen? I thought. How could I do this to my brother, for now he'll be beaten too. Father was snarling to him, "You, you must have helped him too, no doubt." And Regalus was struck to the ground with a blow from my father too. I slumped to the ground, not feeling strong enough to even support my own neck, and I remember looking at Regalus, his teary eyes swimming with accusation as though saying, how? How could you do this to me? before he was sent unconscious by a kick to the head. This sent a new feeling through me. Rage. I couldn't bear to see my own brother punished for something that I had done myself. A sudden rush of adrenaline pulled me to my feet.

"Stop!" I shouted. "Stop it, father!"

Father turned to me slowly, but before he could do anything, Mother intervened.

"Frank, don't! Please, Frank darling, don't hurt my boys!"

Her face was streaked with tears, and I could see the nearly tangible heartbreak that she so radiated. Father raised an eyebrow, looking eerily calm.

"_Your_ boys? Are they not _my_ boys as well? Did I not have even some part in bringing them onto this earth?" his voice rose, and he now pressed my mother up against the wall. "I KNOW HOW TO HANDLE MY CHILDREN, ANITA!"

He slapped her across the face, and I knew it was forceful because a red streak appeared in the shape of his hand. Again and again he slapped her until she cried, but silently, as to not make her weakness apparent- her dignity was just as great as mine. Her face was bruised and a cut had been made by one of his less than perfectly manicured fingernails that was now bleeding down her left cheek.

"Stop it, stop it!" I screamed, tears gushing down my face, but knowing it would do no good.

Finally, my mother reached out to defend herself, but my father caught her wrist and twisted it cruelly, making her shriek in pain. I ran up behind him and, not knowing what else to, began to beat on the back of his jacket with my tiny fists, the extremity of the situation getting the better of my judgment. He whipped around, and his arm caught me in the shoulder, knocking me down. I scurried backwards, trying to get to my feet.

"Sirius, no!" Mother cried.

Father had let my mother go and was now facing me, smiling at my obvious fear as I scrambled to my feet.

"No, Anita, let him. You want to fight me, do you, boy? Go on then, what have you got?"

I stood there, uncertain of what to do; this had not gone how I'd planned it.

"No?" he continued, seeing that I would do nothing, "Well, then I bet I could show you a thing or two!"

In two strides, he was across the room, and I had no where to run. He was reaching into his back pocket for his wand (God knows what he was planning on doing with it), but it gave my mother enough time to gather herself. In was swift motion, she grabbed a vase from the table next to her and threw it at my father. Her aim was good and it hit him square in the back of the head. He paused for a moment, surprise illustrated all over his face, before he fell to the ground at my feet.

It reminded me of one of the pictures I'd seen in the book that had started this all, of a wizard after having slain a dragon, and it lay at his feet the same way my father was now at mine. But I was no great wizard, I knew that, and I had not been the one to slay the dragon. So I ran into my mother's arms, and let her comfort me, her motherly instincts for once shining clear.

A while later he woke up to see my mother standing over him, twirling his wand in her fingers. He had not been moved from his place in the nursery, and he now jumped to his feet, though still looking groggy.

"I-what-Anita, what are you doing with my wand?" he asked aggresively. "Give me back my wand, woman, or you'll be getting more than those bruises on your face!"

Mother looked very calm. "Frank, I can do much more harm to you with this wand than you can to me with your fists. I can protect myself, too. You and your little games may have made me to seem like a fool, but I'm not stupid, Frank. With you unarmed, and me with a wand, I can use any number of curses on you, including Unforgivables. Do not forget that I am just as attentive to the Dark Arts as you are!"

Father seemed to know that he had lost. He could do nothing, now. With a glare, he stormed out of the room, and we followed him to the entrance hallway. He snatched his coat from the coat rack, and opened the door, turning back to us for a moment.

"You-I'll…just…" he couldn't seem to find the words, but only slammed the glass door behind him with such force that it cracked down the middle.

As soon as he was gone, Mother dropped to her knees and enveloped Regalus and me in her arms and hugged us tight.

"Never again, babies, never again…" she whispered.

That was the last time my father ever hit any of us. He died the next day, found dead in his Ministry office. My mother always was more powerful than she let on.

I pick up one of your thin, pale hands-so elegant. But then, that always was how you appeared: as such an immaculate lady-like woman. Of course, people never could tell just how wrong they were until it was too late. Until they'd already been captured by you, and then, even when they realized the truth, they couldn't go if they wanted to. Most of them dealt with this by calling themselves the domineering one, when they knew that in reality, you were full well the one holding them ruthlessly in your mental prison. They all hated it, knowing that you had them tethered to you like a dog on a chain, never able to make it past the image of you-everyone, that is, except me.


	3. Chapter 3

I pick up one of your thin, pale hands-so elegant. But then, that always was how you appeared: as such an immaculate lady-like woman. Of course, people never could tell just how wrong they were until it was too late. Until they'd already been captured by you, and then, even when they realized the truth, they couldn't go if they wanted to. Most of them dealt with this by calling themselves the domineerant, when they knew that in reality, you were full well the one holding them ruthlessly in your mental prison. They all hated it, knowing that you had them tethered to you like a dog on a chain, never able to make it past the image of you-everyone, that is, except me.

"Sirius! Sirius come look what we've made!" you shouted.

It was the Black family's annual summer picnic, used by most as an opportunity to complain about other family members or to discuss the infamous planned Black marriages to other wealthy, pureblood families. However, with me at eight, and you at five, we were oblivious to the more unappealing aspects of this gathering, and only concerned ourselves with the issues of where to stake our claim for the best spot in the woods to play in before other, less favored cousins got to it.

I quickly pulled out of my mother's hand and willingly ran after you. Trying hard to keep up with you (I'd never admit that even though you were younger than me, you could always run faster), you led me into the woods where I saw a large fort made of pine boughs centered around a large fallen oak. You jumped up and down, clapping your hands; it was clear that you were very proud of your creation, as was I.

From behind it, Narcissa appeared (at three, just two years younger than you). Though she had always been rather tentative to dirty her hands, it seemed that she had let loose and contributed a great deal to this.

"We've even made separate rooms inside, like a house," she added, shaking her flaxen blonde hair out of her eyes.

I followed the two inside the fort, and saw how large it was, compared to how it appeared from the outside. Pine branches had been moved aside at random intervals for windows, and let a good deal of light inside. Logs had been used as dividers for rooms; there were five of them. It was tall enough to stand up in, and the rooms were all wide enough for all three of us to down side to side in. I was impressed.

"Wow," mused, "How long did it take you to build this?"

You looked lofty as she replied, "Two hours," matter-of-factly. "Now we can play house!" squealed Narcissa, who had obviously been waiting for this since they'd begun.

"You and Bella can be the mommy and daddy," she continued, "but you have to get married first. Then I can be the daughter." I looked uncomfortably over at you, not sure how you would react to being married (however pretend, at our young age any sort of play marriage was a temporary legal binding), though knowing I wouldn't protest. However, you looked overjoyed at the prospect. You never were one for tact or consideration of standard, or you would have scrunched up your nose and refused to take a step closer to me.

There always was that between us: you never compromised yourself. Your eyes (oh, those eyes, still even then) sparkled with anticipation, and you bounced up and down on the balls of your feet.

"Ooh, let's, Sirius! Let's get married!"

"Alright," I readily agreed, "but we have to have a good place."

So we poked around in the brush, not wanting to stray too far from our "house" for fear of losing the glorious creation. Soon, you called us over to a little spot you'd found beneath the long branches of a weeping willow. Underneath, the ground was dominated by a purple wildflower that seemed to part for us like the Red Sea for Moses as we made our way to the trunk.

"Now, 'Cissa, you can be our witness," you instructed, your obviously extensive knowledge of marriage coming in handy. "You stand over there, and, here, take some of these flowers. You'll be the bridesmaid, too."

I stood awkwardly to the side as you took charge (didn't you always?) and organized the whole thing. When you finally seemed satisfied, you took me by the hand and led me to the tree, where you took my other hand in yours as well.

"'Cissa, I guess you'll have to be the minister, too. Just ask us questions."

Narcissa looked terrified, afraid to spoil our wedding by doing something wrong. "What are your favorite colors?" she finally settled on.

You rolled your eyes, "No, 'Cissa!" you hissed, "Something that we can answer with 'I do'!

Her eyes grew wide as she wracked her mind for something suitable. After a moment, her body relaxed, and she seemed to silently sigh with relief. "Do you love Sirius?" she asked.

I stiffened at this, wondering what your answer would be. I needn't have worried- even then you were a hopelessly passionate romantic. You smiled widely and grabbed my hand, a look of rapture in your eyes.

"I do!" you proclaimed ceremoniously.

A wave of ecstasy ran up my spine, twisting my stomach into delighted knots. I barely knew the definition of love at that point, but to know that you felt _something_ about me, however childish it may have been, was enough to satisfy me.

"Sirius, do you love Bella?" I was tempted to jump about and proclaim to the world that I loved you with all my heart, but I contained myself and managed to answer coolly, "I do," with much less enthusiasm.

That didn't seem to bother you. You were so overcome by the wave of adrenaline and excitement, always so excitable, always a fan of the ornate and lavish party.

"Um…" Now 'Cissa was stuck.

"Say something about our family," you hissed.

"Do you promise to be a good mommy and a good wife?" she asked.

"I do!" you squealed, the thrill of the moment overtaking you in a fit of giggles.

"Then I now pronounce you husband and wife!" 'Cissa finished, seeming relieved, but happy.

You weren't satisfied. Your joy turned to a governing tone. "Narcissa Black, you've forgotten the most important part of the ceremony! The kiss!"

Narcissa's hand flew to her mouth, "Oh no, I'm sorry!"

She gathered herself, and announced in a formal fashion, "Sirius, you may now kiss the bride!"

You smiled, closed your eyes, and leaned towards me. I was frozen as your full, scarlet lips moved closer and closer to mine. At the last minute, as I feared you would fall forward, I caught you with my own lips.

In that moment, the first time your lips met mine, the world seemed to disappear, as cliché as it may sound. Life was perfect, there was no tainted past, no uncertain future, just _then_ and the present was perfect. You broke away from the chaste kiss at exactly the right moment, and grinned, the dimples on your cheeks glowing.

As the day went on, we played "house" and "zoo" and "school" and "store" and all the other games we could devise, taking on multiple roles. But even as I portrayed a student, a cashier, a wild animal, I still thought of us as husband and wife. The bond that was now considered, by me, official between us was growing stronger. Little did I know that stronger, closer, powerful was the very essence of what you wanted that bond to be like. Though subconsciously, at your young age, your heart already knew what it wanted, and your mind was perfecting the plan. It was that day, I believe, that I first really did think that I was in love with you.

Of course, it was not true love, so much as an outpouring of all the suppressed feeling I had never had a chance to bestow upon anyone in my childhood. They went towards you, because you were the only one who I could ever feel anything about. Maybe not love, but I could at least _feel_ towards you. And every time after that, the bond grew and grew, not mutually, but all I knew was that I was drawn to you, by a horrible net of no escape.


	4. Chapter 4

I look to my side. You're still there. It's as though I had expected you to disappear if I turned away. I almost wish you had. For a moment I see think I see you move, and my eyes hold their gaze. But it just turns out to be a shadow, and I turn away. I can't bear to look at you for so long. I never could. All those night we would spend when I would stare into your eyes, not speaking, just being swallowed up in the mysterious wonder of your eyes- those were different. That was another time, another _world_ practically. It was somewhere, sometime, that I wish both so much to go back to, and to forget all together…

"Sirius! Get up this instant!" a voice shrieked from downstairs. I rolled over lazily in my bed, drawing the blankets up to my chin. I didn't want to get up and face the world. Especially since today was the day I was going off to school. I didn't want to have to deal with all the troubles of life after childhood, schoolwork, everything else that went along with adolescence; all I wanted was to remain in the gentle comfort of my bed.

I ducked my head beneath the covers, feeling the confines of the quilts surround me in an intimate periphery. I felt myself dozing off again, welcoming the oblivious sleep, until my mother saw fit to move me bodily from my room. The door crashed open, slamming against the wall, and deepening the dent that was already present from the various other times she'd done this. She was dressed in deep green robes and half her hair was up in rollers. She had apparently been in the process of applying makeup before my involuntary defiance, because I noticed that only one eye was rimmed with her signature dark eyeliner. She was holding a clean pair of robes in her hand, which she promptly strode over to my bed and struck my half-sleeping body with.

"GET UP!" she shrilled, "GET UP NOW, IDIOT BOY!"

I half raised one eyelid, poking my head from under the covers, but dove back under as she aimed another blow at my face with the robes. "IF YOU ARE NOT UP IN TWO MINUTES, I SWEAR I WON'T BE BRINGING YOU TO KING'S CROSS! YOU CAN GET THERE ON YOUR OWN, OR NOT AT ALL!"

With that, she stomped out of the room in a childish manner, leaving me to tumble sluggishly out of bed and put on the robes. My hair was short, and I ran my fingers through it to count as brushing. I found myself subconsciously hurrying to meet my mother's demands. As much as I hated the thought of responsibility, I really did want to learn magic, and, of course, get out of my house and away from my family.

A few years after the death of my father, my mother's temperament began to slope downhill. Her life was empty, and she didn't have what she needed to be satisfied. She didn't have a male figure to dote upon, she didn't have any reason to specifically care about me and Regalus, and she even her power and status had been reduced as much as they could be, granted that she was a Black. After a while, it seemed that she just gave up, and let herself become ornery and choleric; quick to anger, and positively maniacal when she was. Of course, she never _had_ really held the same vivacity that a mother should, but now, any signs of affection were generally nonexistent, and acknowledgment was rare, except to scream herself into a frenzy when something was wrong. Though she was never physically abusive, her verbal mistreatment was enough to influence us in a less than positive way.

Despite my attempts to defer it, Regalus became a model of our parents: my father's attitude, and my mother's behavior. He became quite the obnoxious little bastard, and I was happy to leave him as well.

I took the stairs two at a time, keeping a steady pace towards the kitchen, where my mother awaited with an icy stare. "It's about time," she said coldly.

I didn't reply, but took a piece of toast from a tray on the table. She consulted me with a harsh look and looked as though she would say something, but restrained herself. She seemed to struggle with this for several seconds before finally taking a deep breath. "Hurry up, and your hair looks filthy, when's the last time you've washed it?" she settled on demanding in a clipped tone.

I looked up lackadaisically. I was used to her criticisms. "Last night," I replied in a monotone.

"Your lying," she announced, raising her voice in a delirious sounding way, "You couldn't possibly have, with that greasy mop on your head!" Her voice was strident and high strung, and her eyes were beginning to widen the way they did when she really began to upset herself.

I decided not to respond, not wanting to fuel her temper, and I ate in silence while she seemed to force herself to calm, a rare event. By the time I was done, she managed a cold but civil tone. "Auntie and her children are coming to see you off." A wave of happiness rose up my midriff, and made me smile. That meant you would be there.

Soon, we were arriving at the station, and Mother was talking in a hushed tone to Auntie while we waited to board. You seemed to be preoccupied with something. You were eight and easily distracted. I didn't interrupt you, not wanting to earn the stern, penetrating glare that you'd already made your signature.

You were staring intently at a book, a thick one at that, trying desperately, I imagine, to comprehend what it was saying. You were always so ambitious, always taking on things that no one thought you'd succeed at. You often did. Of course, it's the times that failed that really counted… Then, however, you seemed to be prevailing, at least slightly, because every once in a while, you'd turn the page.

I just watched you, interested, as always, to see you, even if we didn't interact. Soon, however, it was time for me to get on the train. You hadn't said a word to me, or even acknowledged my presence. I stood rather awkwardly, waiting for you to say something. You didn't. I stuck my hands in my pockets and bit my lip, nervously awaiting some sort of farewell from you.

"Sirius, what's the matter with you, boy? Get on the train!" hissed Mother.

My thoughts were now frantic. It was the sort of need already growing in me that made it necessary for you to recognize me. The sort of compulsion that wreaked havoc in my mind each time I thought of you. I had to say something, for fear that you would not. "Good bye, Bella," I ventured bravely. You didn't respond. I furrowed my eyebrows. The panic was getting more intense. Thinking that you might be too wrapped up in your book, I tapped you on the shoulder. You stiffened at my touch, but didn't speak. I bit my lip. Were you angry with me? I hadn't even seen you in a while, I couldn't have possibly done anything to irritate you!

"Sirius, get over here, NOW!" screeched my mother. "Before you miss the train!"

I couldn't leave. I couldn't move until I knew that you knew I was there. I couldn't believe that you were actually ignoring me. Mother grabbed my shoulder and yanked me away. "Get on the train," she breathed, her eyes mad with her ever easily provoked temper, "Or I swear I will turn around right now and leave you at the station."

Something rose up inside me that made me want to shriek and rip her hands from me. To run over to you and embrace you. To cry into your shoulder and ask you why you were so cold to me. What had I done? What had I done to deserve this?!?!

I tried to shove this feeling make down, send it back to the darkened corner from whence it came- a corner of my mind best not explored. It grew stronger. I tried to wriggle away from my mother, but she held tight and forced me toward the train. My eyes grew wide with hysteria as lashed out, trying to get back to you.

"Bella!" I shrieked. "Bella, answer me!"

I managed to grab hold of a bit of your hair, and as I was dragged away, it slipped out of my fingers with a tug. You turned. Looking at me with those huge violet eyes of yours, I knew what was wrong. This was all a game. This was one of your little mind games that I'd soon come to know only too well. You liked to exhibit your power over me. You wanted to make me realize that you had such a control over me, and that there was nothing I could do about it.

Your eyes were intense and sparkling, not maliciously, but thoughtfully. This was like your first experiment, and you were taking great heed of the results- for next time. I stared into your eyes, realizing this, and stopped struggling. The test was over. You were pleased.

And as I slowly boarded the train, I could see what was happening. It was like a fishing line, with you letting me pull the line out farther, but still always having the control to reel me back in- I was still attached. But unlike the lucky fish that might free himself from such a trap, this hook became a handcuff with no existing key. However, I didn't struggle to free myself. Later, I might, but for now, I was content sitting like your lap dog on a leash, only able to stray so far. But I'd always come back. You never needed to check my roaming, because I'd always return on my own free will.


	5. Chapter 5

I close my eyes, trying to put myself somewhere else. Anywhere but here, your presence, however faded it is at this point, is getting the better of me. Just _leave_, would you? But I know that if you do, and disappear completely from my mind, I will have nothing left to hold onto, and life will become a desperate free-fall. Better to embrace the abhorrent lifeline than to steer clear and be nothing still without it. So you stay, for now, in my memory, and by my side. Physical closeness never did anything for you, except romantically. You could just as easily speak to someone through their thoughts wherever they were, but when you found yourself in love, you needed to touch that person, to make sure that they were still real. Or was that me? We grew so disgustingly close that it could have been either, and I wouldn't have noticed.

As I boarded the train, that afternoon, and shut the door behind me, I felt for the first time, a sense of freedom. I no longer needed my mother. I no longer answered to her. I no longer was trapped with people I could all but barely stand to be in the same room with. I was on my own. I could take care of myself. I would prove to everyone that had ever said otherwise, that I could be self-sufficient, and come out alright. With this feeling came great confidence I held my head high as I strode down the corridor, trunk in tow.

I peered into random compartments, telling myself to find one without any people, but almost wishing that there would be none left. I had never really had any friends. _You_ were the closest thing I had ever had to a playmate, and I had never had a chance to fully develop my social skills. I hoped to find someone with whom I could exchange secrets, get into mischief, do our homework together- a friend! Until now it had been a sort of foreign concept that I'd forced myself to accept, so that I might one day make it a reality.

And though I longed for someone like this, half of me told me not to, for fear that I'd embarrass myself in some inexcusable way, and thus be shunned by the entire school. That half said to let the people come to _me_ and then they could come and go as they pleased, never affecting me. I shudder when I think how naïve I was.

I came upon a compartment currently housing only one boy, who looked a bit lonely. I stamped out any internal argument as a rush of adrenaline rose up at the sight of someone and encouraged me to enter. I reached out, my hand shaking with anticipation, and slid open the door. I could see the boy's eyes light up as I did so, as though he'd been waiting for someone as well. I smiled, awkwardly, as I stood outside the compartment. Suddenly I was frozen. I didn't know what to do next. The actual presence of a peer, a potential friend, within a five-foot radius of me was so intimidating that it had struck the panic switch inside of me and adhered my feet to the floor.

"Oh Gods, how could I have even thought to do this?" I wondered. "I don't know what to say, I don't know what to do! I don't think I've even ever been this close to actually speaking to someone my own age before… I'm not ready for this. I can't do this for the next seven terms… I suppose I'll go about my school years as a hermit. I'll…I'll hide away in my dormitory, not speak to anyone during the day! The others will think I'm strange, but I suppose it will be a sure way to avoid anything like this awkwardness… Oh Gods, I need to get out of this…but I suppose I should say something…"

I realized then how ludicrous my thoughts were, but failed to send that message to the bit of my mind still racing with them. "Er, anyone else sitting in here?" I asked, praying that the answer would be 'yes', so that I could hurry along and sit somewhere by myself.

"No," answered the boy, clearly not as misanthropic as I. "You can sit here if you like." But he said this in a manner that indicated "Please, please, sit here! I need a friend as well, and I know that we'll become great chums if you'll just talk to me for a bit! If you leave I shall be quite sad and feel depressed enough to be just as unsociable as you appear to be. Give me a chance!" all in one sentence

I felt something like pity towards him and entered the compartment hesitantly. I sat down lightly, feeling almost primly stiff. We sat in maladroit silence for a few moments, stretching to an eternity of regretful thoughts. The odd boy swept his messy black hair out of his eyes and averted them immediately. I took this chance to get a better look at him. He wore round, thick rimmed glasses, and his pure blue eyes seemed clear and innocent. His facial expression held the subtlest hint of subconscious aloofness, giving him a certain attraction factor that was so unintended, it felt unfair.

"So-" I started, determined to find _something_ to talk about; _anything_ to break this horrendous awkwardness, but before I could think of anything to finish my attempt at conversation, the door slid open once again. A boy stood there, skittish-looking and pale, his eyes darting about the compartment in a less than settling manner: "I-I was w-wondering, if, er, well if, that is, if n-no one is, um, well, see, if no one is, erm, s-sitting here, I c-could maybe, sort of, um…" He looked at us with watery blue eyes, pleading for someone to finish the sentence he seemed to have so much trouble stringing together.

The other boy smiled shyly but kindly at him. "You can sit here if that's what you were wondering." The small boy nodded so hard I was just waiting for his neck to snap and his head to fly right off his shoulders and shatter the compartment door. I stifled a giggle at that thought, my hereditary dark sense of humor once again apparent.

The pale boy rushed across the compartment and grabbed my hand, startling me as he shook it vigorously. "Peter P-p-pettigrew," he said breathlessly. I nodded and forced a smile at this frail boy that had struck a tender nerve and triggered something deep within my instincts. I didn't realize for another moment of his nervously haggard breathing that he was waiting for a response.

"Oh!" I said quickly, "Er, Sirius Black."

"Pleasure, what a pleasure!" he gasped, and I realized that he had been grasping my wrist in his sweaty palm the entire time as he began to forcefully shake my hand once again.

"I'm James Potter," spoke up the dark haired boy, and Peter jumped as though he'd forgotten there was someone else in the compartment. He turned quickly to James and shook his hand as well.

"W-wonderful," he said in that frantic way of his, "I was so afraid that I'd be sitting alone the entire ride, and my brothers had told me stories about this train- you know some of the older kids can get rather rough, and I was terribly worried that some of them might disturb me in my compartment, so you know it really is great that you two are here, of course, I expected that the train would be rather full, you see…" He continued on rambling for some time, seeming afraid to stop. James and I exchanged grins and raised eyebrows. Eventually Peter stopped and took a deep breath, looking at each of us in turn. "So what house do you think you'll be in?"

"Slytherin," I replied immediately. It was common knowledge that everyone in my family was in Slytherin house, and as much as I hated them, I figured that tradition would uphold itself and I, too, would be sorted into the only house I'd ever thought of.

James furrowed his eyebrows and looked as though he would say something, but changed his mind. Peter spoke up next. "My family's been mostly a mixture of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, but my mother's side of the family had quite a few Gryffindors, and I think that my great-great Uncle Andrew was a Slytherin, so I'm not really sure, but I'd love-"

James quickly cut him off, to prevent another endless rant. "I'd love to be in Gryffindor. My mum and dad were both Gryffindors and I hear it's the best house." I was saddened when I heard this, knowing I'd be put in Slytherin, because I'd hoped that James was my chance for a friendship. I figured I'd have to repeat this whole ordeal once again to find someone in my own house.

Before anyone could say more, the compartment door swung open and a group of giggling girls stood there. Adding the opposite sex to the mix was a whole knew level of awkward, and I hastily edged back in my seat, wondering why they were here. The one who had opened the door had short chestnut brown hair and strode with the air of someone who thought they had a great deal of power, despite whether they did or not. She had been talking to a friend over her shoulder, and turned to us, still laughing. Upon seeing us, she seemed startled, as though she hadn't realized we were there before. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and then giggled, as seemed to be every girl's device to fill the moments without words. "I didn't think anyone was in here."

I surveyed her entourage out of the corner of my eye, careful not to let any of them catch me looking and make my existence known. There were four girls behind her, all looking just as cocky and self-confident as the chestnut-haired girl. To her left was a tall-ish blonde with piercing blue eyes who finally stopped her seemingly endless giggling and hastily bit her lip and smoothed her grey pleated skirt.

To the right of the chestnut-haired girl, who I took to be the leader of their group, was a petite girl, who seemed a little more quiet than the others- but not by much. She wore a denim skirt and a half-buttoned white Oxford shirt that her long red hair spilled over like a river of blood.

She was in front of another blond, this one with shorter, thicker and darker blonde hair than the other blonde, and appeared rather more plain than the other beauties. She stood with a mildly interested smile on her face, as if this was not the ideal place she'd like to be at this time. She was averagely attractive, though not very enticing, but somehow she fit with the others. My eyes lingered on her for a moment before moving on to the girl beside her.

She was small in stature and her jet-black hair (dyed, it must have been) was pulled back into two French braids snaking along her head to a tuft of raven hair on either side. Her face held a sort of apathetic look, as though she couldn't care less about what was going on, and was thoroughly focused on something one could assume was nearly trivial.

"So, could we, like, sit here?" asked the blonde in front. My stomach dropped at this comment.

"Everywhere else is full," said the blonde in back, apologetically. It took my mind a minute to comprehend this fact, but James was quicker.

"Yeah! Yeah, of course you can!"

Peter moved as though to rise, assumably to greet each one as enthusiastically as he had us, but luckily, James nonchalantly put a hand on his arm to stop him. The girls smiled as they sat down, shooting cryptic glances at each other and –what else- giggling like we were stand up comedy from the _Witching Hour_.

"I'm Rhonda," said the girl with short brown hair. Apparently this set a trend for the others who all began to introduce themselves.

"I'm Lily."

"I'm Terralyn."

"I'm Sage."

"I'm Kitty."

I listened and caught most of their names. The dirty-blonde haired girl had sat down next to me and now turned and smiled shyly. "Hi, I'm Sage Tollins."

I was horrified that on my first day in common society I had encountered not one but two situations of the most potential humiliation I'd ever felt in my life. However, I tried not to show this by my face, because I found that a part of me didn't want her to move away from me.

"I'm Sirius," I replied, figuring it was the safest answer with the least amount of words, thus minimizing my chance of embarrassment.

"Sirius…?" she questioned, a curious look on her face.

"Black," I quickly filled in. She nodded politely, but I could tell she didn't recognize the name. Was she perhaps Muggleborn? "So, did the rest of your family attend Hogwarts as well?" I tried to word the question in the most polite and indiscreet way possible.

She laughed in response. "Oh, no. As far as I know, I'm the first in my family to be a witch. My mum wasn't all too sure about letting me come, in fact. She thought it was some sort of joke. But Professor Dumbledore visited with her and I think she was quite smitten."

I laughed, and it felt good to know that I was actually carrying on a successful conversation- with a girl, no less. Sage continued talking, filling the dialogue with the story of how she got here, and I just sat and stared into her eyes, listening intently and nodding. She had beautiful eyes. If the rest of her was rather plain, her eyes were something completely different. They were bright, glowing amber, with rings of green around the edges and specks of blue and yellow spattered about like wildflowers in a meadow. They shined with emotion and spoke along with her voice in a language so mystic, I could only stare and let the words wash over me like a cool ocean wave. A moment later I realized she'd finished her story, and I looked about the compartment.

Peter was sitting rather awkwardly next to the raven-haired girl (Terralyn, I think), who looked like she wanted to strangle him for just sitting there. Rhonda was babbling to James, but he was paying minimal attention to her. Instead, he was gazing at the small redhead (Lily, if I'd heard correctly) with a look of utmost infatuation. I wondered if that's what I looked like gazing at Sage. Suddenly, a horrible thought came to mind.

You. I'd forgotten about you. You had let your unmovable guard off of me for a millisecond, and in that moment, I had broken free. Apparently, you had seen fit to put that wall up again, for now I was in the middle of raging internal war. I was momentarily blown away by my seeming carelessness, but more than that, I was abruptly angry. I was angry at you for having this power over me, not the first time I'd felt this way. I was like a dog whose leash had been lengthened, if only by a foot, and who thought to run free, only to be painfully snapped back by the lead that had not, in fact, disappeared.

I was planning on breaking away from my family when I came here. I hadn't originally included you in this decision, but now that I had experienced a mere taste of what was to come, what with _girls_ – such a pathetically forbidden world- and _friends_ – you couldn't possibly begin to understand that - and all the other promises that Hogwarts held, I saw that you yearned to hold me back. It was then that I began to see that you were not the goddess I had sought you out to be. You were a mere mortal, just as susceptible to life as I was, and all I saw you as now was a jealous bitch who wanted to tear me away from my greatest desire: to be free of anyone's restraints.

Well jolly good for me to figure this all out, but I then realized that I felt no release from your bonds. As though figuring out their evil scheme was enough to banish the villain. You had no intention of letting me go. This anger and frustration was what you _lived_ for. You fed off of it. It seemed absurd to be thinking of this, when, ever since I'd seen you, I'd idolized you. It was a truth I didn't want to believe. I tried to put it out of my mind, knowing that straining on your leash would only bruise my throat, and dwelling on my glimmer of hope that you might one day disappear if I didn't think of you often enough.

When I broke out of these consuming thoughts, I saw James and Peter changing into their school robes, and no girls to be seen. James grinned. "We figured that whatever you were thinking about must be pretty important for you to just…drift off like that, so we decided not to bother you." He and Peter exchanged a smile and I felt myself blush slightly. They must have thought I was dwelling on Sage.

"If only they knew…"


	6. Chapter 6

Your lips are scarlet, naturally so, and I brush my fingers across them, longing to press my own lips to them once more, but knowing that I should not. It's not a peaceful sleep that you are in at this moment, but a fitful rampage of nightmares. Sleep was never a refuge for you, as it was for me. There were too many nights where I would drift off amidst your fiery rage, or your false tears, for me to not realize the truth about my feeble flight. You awoke me in the night many times with gentle kisses…but then, you also woke me often with a blade pressed to my throat. The difference became minimal in time. It pains me to look upon you, both because you still hold me agonizingly tightly, but also because I can feel your grip slipping away…

Soon the train came to a rattling halt. We gathered our things and stepped tentatively into the corridor of the train and made our way to the door, successfully not being trampled by the boisterous upperclassmen. When we stepped into the dimming light of the evening, we stood in a huddled group, unsure of where to go or what to do.

"Firs' years over here!"

The gruff voice cut through the noise of returning students. My head snapped up as I tried to place who'd said that. It wasn't difficult. Rising at least three feet above the tallest of the students, an enormous man was headed toward the train. He sported an equally large coat of some worn material that reminded me of a molting bird. His feet were clad in leather slippers and cleared a four-foot path when he walked.

"Firs' years come this way! Come with me!"

After a wide-eyes glance at James, we headed towards the giant man, with Peter shuffling nervously behind. We ended up at his feet, or in this case, somewhere around his waist, and stared up at him dumbfoundedly. His beard curled into a kindly smile as he peered down on us.

"Hullo there. I'm Hagrid, Keeper of the Keys. Welcome to Hogwarts!" He chuckled, seeing our awestruck faces. A group of students looking equally as dumbstruck had gathered around us, and were now shoving us along as this 'Hagrid' began to move. I couldn't see much of anything, with all the crowding, but I tried to peer over the heads of my classmates and managed to catch a glimpse of some carriages, apparently waiting to be hitched, as they bore no horses, and wondered if we'd be taking those up to the school which was clearly set some distance away. However, we passed the carriages smoothly and descended a riverbank down to the shore of a wide stretching lake, its surface glimmering ebony like a many-faceted obsidian.

Then, Hagrid moved to the side and I saw about 12 wooden rowboats floating expectantly at the water's edge.

"Four to a boat, hurry along now—don't want to miss the feast!"

James, Peter and I scurried to one boat, and were joined a moment later by none other than Sage Tollins.

She smiled and let out a deep breath. "There was only room for four in our boat…" she trailed off, looking slightly apologetic, but still forward.

I felt her snatching glances at me as the boats began to move, seemingly on their own, but I didn't look at her; I refused to have her push me back into that pit of uncertainty that I still lingered on the edge of. I vowed that I wouldn't let her affect me until I'd resolved this growing discomfort with you. I wished that I could enter _your_ mind just as easily as you infiltrated mine. I wanted to order you to let me go, to stop being so utterly possessive, though even I knew that it was much more than that, even at this point. But no matter how hard I tried to think these thoughts in your direction, they fell upon no one and just battered the edges of my mind.

The boat ride was silent and I could tell that Sage was discouraged. I felt guilty for misleading her on the train ride, but I honestly thought that I was close to breaking away from you, and so I told myself to be patient. Finally, our boats hit the other side of the lake, and the castle now cast us all in its extensive shadow. We were once again pushed along, and I saw that through the bustling, Sage had managed to make her way back to Rhonda and company with a scowl on her face. The doors opened and we were taken into an entrance hallway. In front of the group was a wide staircase that seemed to lead to the heavens, and to our right was a huge wooden door that let through the sounds of talking and laughing, revealing that the other students had already arrived.

I looked questioningly to James. "What happens now? When do we get sorted?" I had realized that no one had ever bothered to tell me how we were placed. I only knew that there were four houses and that you ended up in one of them some way or another. James just shrugged, and I saw a confused look appear in his eyes too, as though I'd spread the thought to him for the first time. Suddenly, the crowd grew quiet and I saw that Hagrid had been replaced by a tall woman who appeared to be in her late thirties. Her tight-lipped smile and general appearance- her hair pulled up tightly into a bun and covered by a tall black hat, her stiff smile, her rigid stance- showed everyone that they could place their bets that she would prove to be rigorously strict.

"Good evening," she said, her voice showing kindness, not forced, but merely formal. "Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My name is Professor McGonagall, and I teach all years of Transfiguration. When I open those doors, you will enter the Great Hall and proceed to be Sorted into your houses. For those of you who don't know, the houses are Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Each house has wonderful qualities that you will come to know and after you are sorted, you are expected to sit at your respective House Table."

This little speech seemed to be rehearsed and I could tell that she repeated it every year. Professor McGonagall then moved to the side and swept her emerald green robes out of the way. The doors in front of her opened with a wave of her hand and we were led into a massive room that seemed to have no roof.

Candles floated in the air, not seeming to diminish as they burned, I noticed, staring up at them. We were led to the front of the Hall and stood in a restless cluster, most looking confused, frightened, or a mixture of both. I saw Sage with an apprehensive look in her eyes, huddled with her friends, but immediately averted my gaze. Someone entered the hall with a bang of the door, and all heads turned to see a hunched figure limping into the hall, carrying a stool and muttering under his breath. As he reached the front, he set down the stool and raised his head to nod at the long table that sat all the teachers. Even as he said nothing, a snarl curled his lip and he looked surprisingly inconvenienced to be doing such a simple job.

Atop the stool sat a hat, patched in a few places, and slouched a bit to the right. Silence befell the rest of the Hall and the group around me quieted too. What we were waiting for, we didn't know, but it seemed to have something to do with this sad looking decrepit old hat. A moment of intense silence later, a great tear near the brim opened, and a rough, commanding voice began to sing:

_You look at me bewildered,_

_As you don't know what to say._

_You're doubtful of a singing hat-_

_What could I have to say?_

_But wait a bit and be amazed,_

_You may find yourself surprised._

_I can tell you many secrets,_

_That this castle has disguised._

_However, this is not the time,_

_Nor the way or place,_

_For today I have but one demand-_

_To be performed in haste!_

_For each of you is quite unique,_

_Each holding different skill,_

_And every one a purpose,_

_Your House assures you will fulfill._

_But where to go, or which to pick?_

_The choice is not your own._

_I'll put you with your proper flock,_

_My talent always shown._

_Will you be in Gryffindor,_

_Where courage does prevail?_

_These valiant youngsters bravery,_

_Makes wicked forces pale._

_Or might you seek out Ravenclaw,_

_Where quick minds are ample?_

_Those sharp young brains all straining forth,_

_A scholarly example._

_Or perhaps, it's Hufflepuff,_

_Where housed are many friends._

_Fierce loyalty does bind them close,_

_And honesty commends._

_For others it is Slytherin,_

_As destiny would decide._

_Ambition drives these eager folk_

_To shine against the tide._

_So don't be troubled- don't be wary!_

_Think on me with trust._

_There's only good to come of this,_

_But grumble if you must. _

_In the end it's all quite clear,_

_The proof is in your mind._

_Let's have a peek inside your head,_

_And see what we can find._

The rest of the hall began to applaud, and after a moment of astonished silence, the rest of us did as well. Then Professor McGonagall stepped forward once again, a large scroll of parchment in her hands.

"Addis, Jane!" she called. A tall brunette shuffled forward, her cheeks a distinct shade of crimson. After a moments hesitation, she sat on the stool and the hat was placed upon her head. There was a nearly tangible silence for about 10 seconds and I looked on with wide eyes, uncertain of what was to happen next.

"RAVENCLAW!" roared the hat suddenly, making me jump. There was a murmur amongst the other first years. So _this_ was how it happened!

"Atkins, Benjamin!" was called next.

"SLYTHERIN!" proclaimed the hat. I stared at the boy and recognized him as the son of one of the ministry officials that my father used to work with. He'd come to a few of the parties my family had hosted; now he was to be one of my classmates, I assumed, knowing my destiny as a Slytherin.

They moved through the rest of the "A" names, and I found my stomach inexplicably jumpy as the "B" names progressed.

"Besson, Taylor!"

I knew my name was getting close as she was sorted to Hufflepuff.

"Black, Sirius!"

I hadn't expected my name to be _next_! James shoved me forward with a grin. "Go on, Sirius!"

I felt heat rising to my cheeks, and I felt admiration well up for those who had approached the stool unblushingly. I shuffled forward with my head down and plopped heavily onto the stool, eyes closed, as I found myself unable to survey the expectant crowd.

A voice in my ear- or was it in my _mind_? - startled me. "Ah, another famous Black child…or should I say _infamous?_" The question lingered for a moment before the voice continued, "Yes, well normally I'd know where to put you straight away… but you're not like the others…_are you_? Here's something I haven't encountered in all my years then, eh?" The constant rhetorical questions were making me restless and I struggled to focus. I wasn't sure what the hat was hinting at, but it didn't sound as decisive as I would have liked. "Good mind, son, good mind. You'll do well in- GRYFFINDOR!"

The hat was ripped off of my head immediately, but I didn't leave the stool. Gryffindor? No, no, I was a Slytherin! _Everyone _had been a Slytherin! "Come on, boy, off the stool," prompted Proffesor McGonagall. I looked up at her, unable to word my concern. "I-I…no, th-there must be a mistake…" I stumbled. She thinned her lips in forced annoyance, but I saw a bit of a smile on her lips. "No, Sirius, the hat doesn't make mistakes…Run along to the Gryffindor table, my boy."

I stood up stiffly and walked numbly to the Gryffindor table, where I was greeted with smiles that I didn't see, and congratulations that I didn't hear. I sat rigidly down onto a bench and stared straight ahead. This wasn't real. I had played out the situation so many times in my mind once I'd grasped the concept of the Sorting Hat. I would smile resolutely as I made my way to the Slytherin table and people would comment how I was "Another Black child, just like the rest of them," as which I would want to strangle someone, but would refrain. I think that my concern stemmed only from shock, because I began to accept the reality of the situation, I found myself pleased. I truly wasn't one of them anymore. I wasn't one of _you,_ Bella. And that satisfied me in a way most other things could not.

I looked around to the rest of the table, where older students were chatting quietly, discussing the new arrivals, as well as their summers, their friends, and Quidditch, which seemed to be the subject of choice among most of the boys I sat near. Before I knew it, "Potter, James!" rang out through the hall and my head snapped up to find that Peter had already been sorted and was now sitting nervously across the table from me, his eyes flitting madly about as usual. I craned my neck to have a good look at James, who was already attracting quite a bit of chatter from the female population. "If only he were older," I actually heard one girl down the table, who appeared to be in her fourth or fifth year say.

James sat, grinning on the stool looking completely nonchalant; a talent I wished so much that I could acquire. He saw me, and his smile brightened even more. "GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted after a moment. James hopped energetically off the stool, positively beaming as he rushed down the steps, McGonagall just managing to nip the hat off his head as he passed, with a roll of her eyes. He came over and sat down next to me.

"Wow, glad that's over," he laughed.

I smiled back. "Yeah, it's great." James and I proceeded to watch the Sorting with slight disinterest until the "T" names came along. One after the other, Rhonda Tillman, Kitty Tomas, Sage Tollins and Terralyn Tunders were sorted into Ravenclaw. "What happened to their friend, the red-head…Lily, I think?" I asked, curious.

James looked sorrowful. "Sorted into Ravenclaw, last name Evans…shame, really."

I couldn't help but smile as I looked over to that the four girls were, in fact, joining their redheaded friend at the Ravenclaw table. Poor James. He'd really fancied that girl. "Well don't be too dismal, mate," I assured him, "There's still a chance, you're just not in the same House…"

"Yeah…" said James, looking unconvinced, and making no move to deny his recently created feelings for Lily.

The Hall went quiet and I realized that the Sorting had finished. The cranky looking man had returned to remove the hat and stool from the Hall, and a tall man stood from the center of the teacher's table. His long silver beard hung nearly to his waist, as did his hair that seemed to be done in a number of intricate braided patterns. His blue eyes sparkled, piercingly bright, even from across the room, as he looked over the Hall.

"Welcome, students," he declared, "to another year at Hogwarts!"

"Dumbledore," James whispered in my ear, "They say he's the most powerful wizard alive!"

I looked up at him with new respect as he continued his speech. "I'd like to give the customary reminder to all of you that the Forbidden Forest is _not_ the place for those of you who wish to remain alive to complete your schooling. Also, that to keep the wrath of Mr. Filch at bay," snickers rippled across the hall as the Headmaster smiled affectionately at the limping man who'd brought the hat in and out of the Hall, "all banned items should be kept out of the school, the list of which you can find posted on Mr. Filch's office door, and, if he intends to fulfill the request he's made, at various points throughout the school."

He paused for a moment, but as he opened his mouth to speak again, the doors of the Hall banged open once again and a harried looking woman dragging an extremely hesitant looking boy by the arm hurried in. Professor Dumbledore seemed unsurprised and stepped down for a moment as the woman made her way to the teacher's table. He said a few words to her, as the boy hung his head, looking as though he'd rather not be there. Finally, she kissed the boy on the cheek and left the hall with a troubled look on her face, as though she felt she should leave before she burst into tears.

Dumbledore stepped up once again to speak. "There has been a slight shift of focus, and we have one more student to be Sorted. Mr. Filch, if you please…"

Filch crossed the distance in as few strides as possible and set the stool down rather heavily. Dumbledore didn't seem to notice, and whispered something in the boy's ear. The boy walked around to the front of the teacher's table, where the stool sat and I got a good look at him.

He was pale- unnaturally so, as though he'd had the pigment sucked right out of his skin, except for under his eyes where there were dark circles as though he hadn't slept for days. His eyes held a certain amount of wariness, but defensiveness as well, as though he expected to be attacked at any time- and he was ready. However, his walk contained a sense of being resigned to whatever it was that he was cautious of… as though he couldn't change it; a feeling I knew only too well… His lips were cracked and chapped, and he appeared frightfully thin; his emaciated figure apparent even under his shabby looking robes. As he sat on the stool, he brushed mussed, sandy hair out of his eyes and stared straight ahead.

"Gryffindor!" cried the hat, with slightly less vigor than at the first Sorting, as though it had been awoken from a deep sleep.

There was scattered applause as the boy didn't react at all, but made his way to our table, where he sat a few spaces away from us. "He looks rather ill, then, doesn't he?" I mentioned to James as the stool was once again taken from the Hall. James nodded. "Poor bloke," he added.

Dumbledore stood once again and spoke as though he'd never been interrupted. "Also, I would like to say that we have a new teacher joining us this year- may I present Professor Welshare!" An auburn-haired witch stood from beside Dumbledore, her height reaching only to his elbow. She gave a timid wave to the students who applauded briefly. "Professor Welshare will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, as you may have guessed. Now then, I assume that I'm not the only one with quite an appetite!" He snapped his fingers and the tables became laden with hundreds of dishes filled with food. "Tuck in!"

As we ate, I caught James snatching mournful glances at the Ravenclaw table. I hastily spoke. "So…when do you think we'll get our schedules?" James snapped his head towards me with a bit of a dismissive shake. "Oh! Right…er, I suppose tomorrow…What do you think of the teachers?"

I surveyed them for the first time. Besides the stern Professor McGonagall, and the tiny Professor Welshare, there was an even tinier wizard with graying hair and a good sized beard, along with a plump woman wearing dirt smeared robes and carrying on a conversation with a very large man in a velvet waistcoat. There was no sign of Hagrid anywhere, but there_ was_ a ghost hovering above one of the chairs, not eating anything. I grinned at James. "Interesting," I decided.

Having positively stuffed ourselves of the food that seemed to multiply as it was eaten, we exited the Hall with the other students. "Gryffindors!" a voice called. I swung around, hoping for someone helpful, as I wasn't quite sure where we were to go. A girl with blonde plaits and very fair skin, appearing to be around her fifth year was gathering a group of first years around her that I hurriedly joined, dragging James with me. "Hello Gryffindors, my name is Laurie, and I'm one of the Gryffindor Prefects!" she announced this with a toned down sense of pride as she smiled down on us. "I'll take you up to the Gryffindor common room and direct you to your dormitories. If you need anything, feel free to ask me throughout the year. Now, if you'll come this way…" She led us up several staircases before stopping abruptly. I was suddenly jolted backwards into James who tripped before catching himself on the banister. I was horrified to realize that the staircase we were on seemed to be detaching itself from the previous landing. It quivered in the air a moment, before moving to the left and upwards a bit.

"Don't panic, now," called Laurie from the head of the group. "The staircases like to move about quite a bit, but you'll get used to it after a while. They're rather predictable really…"

The staircase we were on stopped with a bump as it collided with a hallway, which Laurie led us calmly into. I turned to James. "Not sure I'll ever really be used to _that_, now!" I said, raising my eyebrows. James laughed. "After our fair share of 'detours' I suppose we'll catch on… they seem to rather follow a schedule- look!" I looked back, and sure enough the staircase from where came had returned to its original position.

Soon, we came to a large portrait of a very fat woman in a very pink dress. She beamed down on us. "Password?" she inquired.

"Toadstool," answered Laurie without hesitation. She turned to us. "Remember that, you lot, alright? You won't be able to get into the common room without it and it's rather inconvenient to have to wander the halls until someone comes along who knows it," she said pointedly, as though speaking from experience.

The portrait had swung open like a large door, revealing a rectangular opening that we proceeded to climb through. The common room was a spacious circular chamber speckled with overstuffed armchairs and couches, and lit with the cordial glow of a crackling fire. It gave forth the feeling of warmth and fondness, and I immediately felt more at home than I ever had in my own house.

"Boys' dormitories are up the staircase to the right, and the girls' are to the left. I'd suggest you get some rest before your lessons tomorrow!" Laurie finished and went off to the other side of the common room. James was the first one up the stairs, and I followed him speedily.

Once upstairs, we found several different chambers marked upwards to "Seventh Years". We obediantly entered the one marked "First Years" and found to our delight, another fire-lit chamber with 3 four-poster beds on either side of the room. I found my trunk at the foot of one of them, and pulled back the curtains to view my bed. It appeared welcoming and warm, and by the time I snuggled into the cozy blankets that night, I knew that the chamber was occupied by James, Peter, Remus Lupin, and two boys by the names of Dennis Masters and Travis Brown. And it was all I needed to know about these people to still feel as though I could sleep soundly thinking of nothing but the trivial notions I'd had to abandon so often at home. I _was_ home, now.

I want to leave you now. I want to get up, pull on some robes and leave the room. But something is holding me back – good Lord, does it never end? Ha, of course it doesn't. You've held me down by a finger, you've blinded me with a smile, you've choked me with your perfume. Why should it be any different now? It shouldn't be. Somehow, I think that if it was, I might not love you anymore. And that's a thought more intimidating than the certain death your own will continue to hold above me.


End file.
